


These Waters

by parachutiste



Category: Bastille (Band), Ben Howard (Musician)
Genre: M/M, RPF, sometimes ships just...happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parachutiste/pseuds/parachutiste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben is teaching Dan how to surf. Dan is still trying to figure out what he thinks about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh, I'm multi-shipping trash, what else is there to say. Inspired by me finding out that Ben Howard is a fucking Surfer Boy. Please don't ask me where they are geographically. Also it's my first time using m-dashes (not my fucking _choice_ ), so sorry if anything's messed up in that regard. Concrit is always welcome, although this is not my most serious work to begin with, haha. 
> 
> As per usual: this is a fanwork, utterly fictitious, and means no disrespect towards the parties it was inspired by. No reposting to other websites or tweeting about it to the bands etc.
> 
> "These Waters" is a song by Ben Howard, but it was just the eponym. A good song of his to go with this would be "Old Pine", for example. Yeah.

Ben promised he wouldn't go too hard on him. Dan distinctly remembers cajoling talks of fine-grained beaches and sunloungers, cool drinks in the shadow of a palm tree; Ben said he wouldn't even make him sleep on the beach if he didn't want to, although Dan saw him pack two sleeping bags anyway. Whatever it was that Dan agreed to fly half across the world for, it was not this mouthful of sand, with the ocean, drinks and a plurality of leisure activities _just_ out of reach. He's not sure but he thinks people might be stopping to take not-so-covert photographs. All this dry training makes Dan feel utterly ridiculous, and somewhere along the way, the accusation of Ben enjoying it far too much arises; to Dan's surprise, Ben gets down and does it all with him—it makes Dan feel slightly better.

 

Dan collapses onto the beach with a groan. _This is why you became a singer_ , he thinks and drapes a hand over his eyes to protect himself from the heavy midday sun, pushing away the thought that Ben is a singer too. „It hurts,“ he whines, and Ben, flopping down next to him, albeit much more gracefully, grins and says, “But in a good way, yeah?”

Dan drags himself up specifically to smack a fistful of algae in Ben’s face.

 

Ben wakes him up—early, that much Dan can tell, coaxing him out of bed and wrapping him in a windbreaker, then leading him to the beach over Dan’s ongoing mumbling of protest so they can watch the sun rise. Sunrise—sun. _rising_. His hibernating mind latches onto the bit of information. „You bloody wanker—“ he starts, but Ben, sweet, dishevelled, four-fucking-am-in-the-morning Ben presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and says, „Just this once, okay?“ and Dan hears himself grunt yes in response.

Ben gazes out across the ocean, to the fine divide in the familiarly colour-coded distance, Dan's weight leaning comfortably into his side. He didn't tell Dan that he had come here every morning. „See, these waters will pull you up, if you're bolder than the darkness,“ he says. Dan _mh-hms_ into his shoulder. To be honest, Ben thinks Dan’s fallen back asleep by the time the slow sun breaks over the horizon, but then Dan shifts and presses a kiss to his cheek and says a quiet _thank you_ , and it spreads through Ben like the idly dawning heat of the oncoming day. 

 

Dan easily admits that going for midnight swims is much more to his liking than being chaperoned out of his own bed to skulk on the beach, waiting for a glowing orb in the sky even though the glowing orb is pretty, and if you play your cards right and yawn a lot, your boyfriend will be very apologetic and eager to make it up to you. The water is warm and supple, no waves to catch, and none to pull you under. Ben dives under to prove he can press at least seven separate kisses to Dan's stomach before he runs out of air—Dan wonders if it counts as skinny dipping if your boyfriend just fucking yanks down your fucking trunks in the middle of the _fucking_ ocean. 

 

Ben has the good sense to admit for some quality leisure time before the threats start coming in, and it mainly goes to lazing on the beach, to tattered paperbacks and absurdly competitive sudoku battles, to digging their toes into hot sand and knocking hips and knees and elbows into each other. From time to time, Ben will stop whatever he is doing to lean over and press a kiss to Dan's shoulder, or curl a hand over a hipbone like that’s all there is to it, and it makes Dan’s chest swell like the crest of a wave right before the breaking point.

When Ben goes for his afternoon swim, Dan stays on the beach under the pretence of wanting to take a nap while all he really does is watch Ben in the water, lithe and sinuous like a wave himself; Ben catches on somewhere along the way and calls him out on it and Dan blushes profusely, completely failing to deny anything. 

Most of the nights they order in and stay out on the balcony until the breeze is fresh enough to make them burrow into their hoodies, and sometimes, when there's still music reaching up to them from the promenade, Ben will pull Dan in by the waist, and sway him in a way Dan will decidedly _not_ call dancing, and with the ocean at his back and Ben's mouth trailing hot across his skin, Dan will think that _whatever_ it was that made him follow Ben half across the world, _this_ must be coming pretty damn close to it. 

 

And then it’s been a little over a week and it’s time to go, and on the last night they sleep with the windows wide open and Dan says, “Okay, so I _didn’t_ drown,” and Ben laughs and pulls him atop of him, and all Dan can think is that water truly takes the shape of all that it surrounds as he feels Ben’s body mould into his own. There’s the sound of the wind driving the water inshore, and the salt clinging to the smooth expanse of Ben’s skin and the mussed-up strands of his hair, and Dan swears he can taste it across the roof of his mouth even.

“Everything still hurts, you know,” Dan reprimands him half-heartedly, draping himself expansively over Ben's chest.

“But in a good way?” Ben asks, trailing his fingers lightly along Dan's forearm.

“Yeah,” Dan says with a smile, “in a good way.”


End file.
